One Lonely Tear
by Jet.Black.Stars
Summary: Written in light of the last episode of the Second Series. The Doctor remembers. SPOILERS! Please R&R: my first WhoFic.


_SPOILERS AHEAD_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Doctor, although I would like him to be mine, nor do I own Rose._

_A/N: I wrote this in light of the recent episode, Doomsday, where the Doctor said goodbye to Rose. It's set the day after the events at Torchwood, before they meet on the beach._

_Dedication: To a wonderful friend who's been my Guardian and Keeper these past few months.._

One lonely tear

Rubbing his temples, the man in the striped pyjamas forced himself to recall the events of the night before. There had been pain, he'd felt pain...and his arms felt like they'd been wrenched from their sockets. He remembered seeing something, a girl...flying...had it been a dream? The blonde girl, flying into an empty space...someone had caught her...there had been a wall, a whitewashed wall...and there had been something about trying to get through that wall...he'd walked away...but he couldn't remember...couldn't remember what it was that he'd lost. His eyes fell on a bunch of roses by the side of his bed. Dark red, velvety to the touch, and – Rose!

The Doctor sat bolt upright in bed and shook his head roughly. He felt terrible...his head was pounding, his eyes were swollen and the world seemed to be swimming in front of him. He was cold, too, and his chest ached. Both of his hearts were pounding hard, singing to one another – a song of grief. More memories were coming back to him...he'd walked away from the wall, he'd gone back downstairs...Torchwood...someone had given him a drink...he'd wanted more drinks, and more, until he could barely stand...more drinks...he'd drowned himself in something strong. They'd taken him to a quiet restaurant, and given him food...he hadn't been hungry, but he'd forced down something that looked like white worms in a blood-red sauce, just to keep them happy. The Doctor's stomach heaved as he remembered the spaghetti from the night before, and he jumped out of bed, staggering towards the bathroom with his hand clamped firmly over his mouth.

Ten minutes later, the Doctor entered the console room, dressed in his normal suit, minus the coat – he'd turned the heating up in the Tardis and it had become pleasantly warm and comforting inside, as if his ship was attempting to protect him from the harsh reality of what had happened. He made his way towards the large squashy chair at a run. He had to get there first! Rose would be down in a minute, and she'd be mad that he'd been the first one to the chair...she'd probably tickle him, try to prise his long fingers from the sides of the chair and end up sitting on top of him, leaning against him like the back of the chair – although she'd complain that he was too bony, of course, as usual.

Seated in the chair, the Doctor stared around the Console Room, avoiding looking straight at the Time Rotor – it was too bright for his aching head to bear. It was strange that Rose hadn't appeared yet – she wasn't the earliest of risers, but she usually managed to be up soon after the Doctor. He sighed and settled down in the chair to wait for her arrival.

He woke several hours later – or it could have been days – stiff from sleeping at an odd angle, and almost fell off the chair as he scrabbled to sit upright. His first thought was of a wall, the same, whitewashed wall, and almost immediately he remembered everything. It had worked then, the alcohol...he'd forgotten. Forgotten Rose, forgotten his sorrows, forgotten the endless walk away from the wall, away from Rose, away from the girl he loved. His hearts ached for her, and they played the same song in his mind, a mournful, grieving song...a tune Rose had once hummed, and had then been embarrassed when he'd asked her about it. She'd sung it when he had been ill in bed, that first Christmas, and again when they'd had to leave Mickey behind in the parallel world...the parallel world where Rose was now trapped. The Doctor's Rose, _his _Rose...his companion...more than that. His lover, and his love. She was gone...gone forever...

"Rose."

The single word escaped his lips as a tear tracked its way slowly down his face. One, lonely, single tear...one, lonely, single Doctor. The word bounced back off the walls as if the TARDIS itself was calling her...calling her back to them. But she could never come back, she could never be on board, could never hold his hand, touch his face, ruffle his hair...tickle him, laugh with him...dance with him...

A sob escaped the Doctor's lips, a sob which shook his whole body. Grief coursed through his veins, pushed on by his hearts, and the same song echoed through his mind...no words, just a tune. Images flashed before him; a Golden Girl – Rose with Time itself flowing from her eyes, Rose looking up at the stars with him when the ash from the Sycorax ship had fallen that Christmas, Rose stroking his face when he had been ill and she'd thought he was asleep...

The tears were coming faster now, splashing onto the TARDIS floor where they fizzled and disappeared, as if the Doctor's ship was attempting to dry his tears, to tell him that everything would be alright...

...although it never would be.

One lonely tear escaped the TARDIS and lay on the Console where it had dripped. One lonely Doctor sat on the floor of the Control Room, crying as if his hearts would break.


End file.
